Mental
by LizzehBoo
Summary: The day started out with no cases. Then Chase punched House, which could have been normal… until he collapsed. ChaseCameron and HouseCuddy moments.
1. Prologue

-1**Mental**

(A/N: This is my very first House fic, and I actually had to do research for it, so I hope you guys like it.)

(Summary: The day started out with no cases. Then Chase punched House, which could have been normal… until he collapsed. ChaseCameron and HouseCuddy moments.)

_Prologue_

House stepped through the front doors of the PPTH at about twelve p.m. He also stepped through those doors about three hours late for work. No matter. He brought lunch. For him. Not them. And it wasn't like he hadn't been late for work before. It was more of an everyday thing.

"House!"

He winced. Great. Cuddy.

"Morning, Cuddy," he said with an air of teasing. He was already thinking up ways to annoy her.

"More like afternoon," she glared at him with piercing blue eyes.

"Is it? Well, imagine that," he said with false surprise.

"Don't make me add to your clinic duty."

"Awww," he complained with a hint of sarcasm, "Not one new case?"

"No."

"Let me ditch my stuff in my office," he muttered, feeling a little disappointed that his day would consist of lunch, then clinic duty.

"Good boy," Cuddy smirked.

"Woof," House said, limping off toward the elevator.

After a few minutes, House had reached his office and hobbled inside. His little ducklings sat at the long table. They were so well trained. House set his fish tacos on the table and took a seat.

"So!" he said, taking a sip of his drink, "Who wants clinic duty?"

Foreman, Cameron, and Chase gave him flat-line looks.

"Don't everybody talk at once," he said, taking a large bite of his fish taco, "Man! You cannot get a better fish taco. Any new cases?"

"Nothing," Cameron said.

"Nothing the others couldn't figure out anyway," Foreman added.

"Then… why are you here?" House added with a teasing raise of his eyebrows and a hint of a smile on his lips.

And for some reason, Chase's eyes flickered.

"Because it's our job to be here. On time, I might add," the Aussie growled.

Cameron and Foreman glanced at him with strange looks. He had obviously been fine before-quiet, but fine.

"Well, it doesn't look like I missed anything." He tossed a folder across the table. "Chase! Lucky number one. You've got clinic duty."

"Do your own damn job," Chase muttered darkly.

House took a moment to study the Aussie. Something was different. His eyes just seemed out of focus. His anger seemed illogical.

"Well, someone's in a bad mood," House said, eyeing the young man.

Cameron looked concerned and Foreman looked confused.

"I'm not going to do something you were assigned to do," he crossed his arms.

"Oh, don't be so mean, Chase! You're usually ready and willing to kiss my ass," House replied without missing a beat.

Chase stood quickly, pushing his chair back with enough force to knock it over. "Shut up for a second, would you!"

"I guess you're on your cycle," House said, throwing his lunch bag in the trash.

Chase's jaw was extremely stiff and his eyebrows were furrowed. He squeezed his hands tightly into fists.

"You should really get that checked out. I know a good doctor," House said. "It's a girl too, so you won't feel embarrass-"

Chase's fist connected with House's face, sending him into the whiteboard, knocking it over. Cameron stood, shocked, while Foreman made his way over to House.

"Go to Hell!" Chase yelled, storming out of the office.

"Are you okay?" Foreman asked as House pulled himself up, leaning on his cane.

"Yeah, I'm fine. He hits like a girl."

"Should we go get him?" Cameron asked, unsure of what to do.

"No," House said, acting as if nothing had happened, though his mind was busy with thoughts.

He popped his jaw while their backs were turned. "Who's gonna take clinic duty?"

…

Chase's eyes were blazing. He felt as if his blood were going to boil over. It was incontrollable. Rage just billowed over into his soul. It didn't matter why he was mad. He was just pissed off. Cuddy stepped off the elevator to catch him headed toward the staircase.

"Chase, House isn't making you do his clinic duty, is he?" she asked.

"Hell no," Chase returned with a look of disgust.

"There's no reason to talk to me like that… Chase?"

A jolt of pain hissed its way through his skull. Silence filled his ears, accompanied only by the quickening rate of his heart.

"Chase?" Cuddy asked this time with a bit more alarm.

Another jolt of pain. He felt like he was dying. It hurt so bad! He grasped his head, squinting his eyes shut and yelling out profanities.

"Chase!"

The world fell out from under him. Chase hit the floor, unconscious. People stared in surprise. Cuddy quickly kneeled down by Chase and checked for a pulse. He still had one. She pulled out her cell phone.

"Well, looks like your clinic duty is off for today, House," she muttered, dialing a number.

…

"Gotta admit, you've been asking for it for awhile," Foreman laughed.

Even Cameron flashed a smile.

"You really pissed him off," Foreman continued. "I figured he'd punch you eventually. It was pretty cool."

House shuffled toward his phone which had begun to ring, tired of hearing jokes about being hit by the blonde-haired doctor. He picked up the phone.

"Yeah?"

"House."

"Cuddy! What a nice surprise! You should call me at home though. I'm so busy with work, you know."

"House, this isn't the time. Someone passed out in the hallway."

"So? Not my patient, not my prob-"

"No, it's not your patient. It's your doctor."

"Hey, Foreman!" House called after a pause. "You can _give your mad props_ later. We have a case."

"What about Chase?" Cameron asked.

House put the phone back on the receiver. "That is the case," he said seriously.

Cameron and Foreman's eyes widened.


	2. Chapter One

-1_Chapter One_

"So," House said, uncapping the black dry-erase marker, "Symptoms of our little Aussie."

He wrote **HEADACHE**, **FAINTING**, and **MOOD SWINGS**, on the board.

"Mood swings?" Cameron asked.

"He… punched me," House said as if it was a "no-duh" comment.

"Okay…"

"Okay then. Now that THAT'S settled…" House turned back to the board, "What could cause these symptoms?"

"Drugs? Inhalants and Ecstasy can cause those symptoms," Foreman suggested.

"Good. Get a tox screen on him."

"Don't be ridiculous. Chase wouldn't do drugs. He's-"

"A doctor?" House suggested, popping a Vicodin in his mouth.

"The behavior's too erratic for it to be drugs. He would have sank into the symptoms, not plummeted," Cameron argued.

"Fine. What would you suggest?" House wrote **DRUGS** on the board nonetheless.

"Maybe it's genetic?" she shrugged. "We've met his dad but his mom died years ago. What if his mom had a mental disorder?"

House was silent for a moment. He knew about Chase's mother, of course, but the rest of the team obviously didn't. He had to admit that it was strange that Chase entrusted that personal information with someone like him. He shrugged it off.

"Then we'll get his history. Get all the way past great-grandparents. Both of you. Shoo. You've got work to do!" The two left.

House looked at the symptoms again. He shook his head.

…

"Chase?"

His eyes fluttered open slowly, a pain residing in his head slowly pulsating, just enough to be irritating. He glanced around the room. Blue walls-the rest white. He was in a hospital room? His eyes caught sight of Foreman leaning against the wall, then to Cameron who was by his bedside, looking at him with unblinking eyes.

"Cameron?" he questioned, his voice heavy and quiet, still plagued with sleep.

"Chase, you passed out in the hallway. Do you remember that?"

He tried to think back, but nothing came. "No."

"We need to get your family history so we can help you."

"Why? You think it's genetic? What do you think I have?"

"We just want to see if the symptoms can be traced back."

"And what are you looking for?" he felt slightly defensive. This WAS his personal information after all. "Look, I'm sure I was just stressed from work. I'm fine."

"We want to make sure…" Cameron was trying to be gentle, but her concern was bothering him. He didn't WANT anything to be wrong with him.

He stood up and pulled the IV out of his arm. "Look. I'm fine. Perfectly logical, perfectly fine."

"Chase, you passed out!" Cameron persisted.

"I haven't slept well in the past few days. That's all. I was just tired."

"You punched House. Remember that?" Foreman spoke up suddenly.

Chase couldn't remember, but he passed it off as if he did. He had to be okay. He HAD to. There was nothing wrong with him. Nothing.

"He deserved it, didn't he?"

"Not anymore than usual," Cameron said.

"Cuddy said you grabbed your head before you passed out, like you had a really bad migraine."

"I'm FINE!" Chase insisted.

Cameron and Foreman exchanged unsure looks.

"Do I LOOK sick to you? Really, I'm just fine."

"You've said that four times, Chase," Cameron's eyes had a twinge of annoyance along with concern. "Are you trying to convince us or yourself?"

"Don't get philosophical with me, Allison," Chase muttered, using her first name for more of an effect. He could feel his anger coming back.

"_Robert_," Cameron continued, irritated now, "Lay back down. We want to make sure."

"He could be just fine, Cameron," Foreman shrugged.

"Look I-" Chase halted. For a moment, he swore he had seen his mother there.

He shook his head and blinked a few times. She was gone.

_"I want a drink, Robert."_

He turned quickly. His mother was standing there, her hair disheveled, clothes askew, face pale, and eyes wide and frighteningly gray. Her lips were chapped, almost bleeding, and she stumbled towards him.

_"Get mommy her drinks, Robbie. Get mommy her drinks and her medicine…"_

"N-no," he whispered, closing his eyes.

"Go away…" he thought. "Go away…"

It was real. For some reason, he was convinced of that.

_"ROBERT! GET MY DRINKS! NOW!"_

"NO!" he yelled out, backing against the wall.

"Chase?" Cameron's voice dwindled away.

_"You damn kid! Get my drinks, god damn it!"_

He felt as if her hand had collided with his head. He slid down the wall. His heart began pumping against his chest.

"CHASE!" another voice dwindled away. Was it still Cameron? He wasn't sure.

_"Damn you! It's all YOUR fault he left! You hate me, you little bastard! You just want me to be MISERABLE! DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU!"_

He squinted his eyes shut, feeling hot tears beginning roll out of the sides of his eyes. His head blasted with pain. A cold hand landed on his wrist.

"NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!" he screamed, flailing.

Cameron backed away, looking quickly to Foreman. "Fine, huh?"

…

House's marker squeaked against the whiteboard. **HALLUCINATIONS** now bottomed the list in big bold letters.

"Still don't think it's drugs?" he glanced over at her. "Looks pretty druggie to me."

Cameron glared.

"Cameron, search his house. See what you can find. Foreman, do a tox screen. Let's see if our little Aussie's jacked up."

"House, don't you think his condition is a little severe to be running little tests like this? Drugs could have warn off by now."

"Keyword is COULD. We need to find out what he's on."

"What if he's not ON anything!" Cameron argued.

"Then you won't find anything in his apartment, will you?" House was becoming irritated at the woman's constant need to insist on things. She was so damn stubborn!

Foreman left to do his job. Cameron stood.

"Wait a second," House said, rubbing his left temple with his free hand.

"What?" Cameron turned quickly, her voice strained.

"My thoughts exactly. Why are you so intent on thinking he's not on drugs?"

"It's not that," she said, appearing extremely stressed. "Look, I'll just go-"

House eyed her curiously. "It's because it's Chase isn't it?"

Cameron blinked a few times, probably blinking back tears. "This is just the second time this has happened. I feel like this team's cursed or something!"

"Maybe it is," House said with a smirk. "After all, you work for me. Go."


	3. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two_

"House." Cuddy stepped in his office.

House looked up from absent-mindedly throwing his oversized tennis ball against the wall and caught it, just before it hit him in the head. He placed it on his desk.

"Cuddy," he stated.

"Where's… the team?" she asked, looking around at the emptiness.

"Cameron's at Chase's apartment. Foreman's doing a tox screen. You know the rest."

"You think it's drugs?"

"Right now, I do. The symptoms are pointing to drugs-"

"Not drugs," Foreman said, "Not really anyway."

"What do you mean 'not really'?"

Foreman handed House the document of the tox screen. The phone rang.

…

Meanwhile, Cameron stared in Chase's fridge, pale. He had quite a bit of alcohol in his fridge. Whiskey, wine, beer, scotch, gin and tonic…. All kinds of alcohol. Either he was going to throw a huge party or he had some problems. Cameron's mind was set on the latter. She whipped out her cell phone.

"House, it's Cameron," she said with an air of seriousness.

"Darn. I was hoping it was Carmen Elektra," House whined. Cameron rolled her eyes. "I bet I know what you found," he finished.

"He's got a lot of alcohol in his fridge," she said, going through the bottles, clinking and clanking.

"Bring me back one of each kind he's got."

"Okay," Cameron said, putting various bottles in a bag.

"And check his medicine cabinet," he sounded almost amused.

"Okay," Cameron sighed, putting the large bag against the wall for the moment.

She began sifting through his bathroom. His apartment was dreadfully small. She believed that he wasn't rich. Even if it was for one person, hers was bigger than his shabby little flat. Yes, it was quaint, but small, especially for a doctor. Her concern grew. She searched each drawer and below the sink and found nothing. Then she opened the mirror. She interrupted House's speaking to Cuddy and Foreman.

"I… I think I found it," she said, her voice sounding far away as she pulled out three or four bottles of pills.

…

"Anti-depressants!" House stated, a little overzealously for such a dark word. He wrote it up on the white board in bold letters, along with **ALCOHOL**. "And he's a heavy drinker too. Who knew?"

House pulled a beer out of the bag Cameron had brought, popped the top, and took a swing of it. "Good choice of beer. He must be an alcoholic. Knows his stuff."

"House, I thought you wanted the beer to analyze," Cameron said.

"Nope. Free beer. You know…" he pulled a bottle out, "I always expected Chase to be a wine-guy."

"Look, the alcohol and the antidepressants don't explain all the symptoms," Foreman said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but they do explain SOME of the symptoms, and that's a start."

They looked at the board:

**HEADACHE**

**FAINTING**

**MOOD SWINGS**

**HALLUCINATIONS**

**ALCOHOL**

**ANTI-DEPRESSANTS**

"By the way, Cameron," House said. "Did you get the history?"

"No, he got mad at me. Wouldn't say anything."

"What about his memory…" House was deep in thought.

"He didn't remember anything," Foreman said, "I could tell. Didn't even remember punching you. Though he pretended he did."

"Well, I did," House complained. He grouped up **HALLUCINATIONS, MOOD SWINGS, **and then added **MEMORY LOSS** too the group, drew a line, and wrote **DEMENTIA**.

"Dementia?" Cameron questioned, surprised, "That's a bit severe."

"Severe, but suiting," House said, underlining the word.

Cuddy was leaning against the glass wall of the office. Apparently, the case interested her as well. That, or she was making sure House wasn't going to kill one of his staff. Either way, Cameron and Foreman appreciated her appearance.

"So, dementia, headache, fainting…" Cuddy observed, "I don't think anti-depressants can cause that."

"Alcohol can cause all those symptoms of dementia. It might not be dementia, just alcoholism," Foreman suggested.

"Alcohol would've shown on the tox screen. He hasn't had it in a short while. It's not alcohol."

"The anti-depressants showed?" Cameron asked.

"Not much, but yeah," Foreman slid the paper over to her.

"That's not enough to cause anything, not even mood swings," Cameron said.

"We need more. It's missing something…" House said, scratching his bristly chin. "Go talk to him."

"He hallucinated last time we talked to him," Foreman argued.

"Well, get it out of him BEFORE he sees his imaginary friend again," House said with finality.

Cameron and Foreman got up and walked out of the office, figuring they'd rather not complain.

"I'm gonna get a consult," House said to Cuddy, smirking.

She knew. House needed to speak to Wilson. "Go on, but make it quick."

They glanced at each other. "Got it."

…

"Wilson," House knocked on the door.

"With a patient," he called.

"It's important."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Five minutes please?"

The patient smiled. "That's fine."

He stepped out of his office. "What is it, House?"

"I got free beer in my office," he said.

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "That's it?"

"Nope. Came from Chase's apartment. Free AUSTRALIAN'S beer."

"House-wait… why do you have Chase's beer?"

"He's an alcoholic!" House said excitedly with a large hint of sarcasm, "And my patient for the time being, but that's not important."

"Chase is sick now?" Wilson' eyes widened.

"You didn't hear? He passed clean out in the hallway this morning."

"No, I didn't."

"Yeah… well, it's not looking good. The symptoms are missing something…."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out. You always do. What's wrong with him?"

"Something," House said vaguely, then limped off.

Wilson sighed, "Two diseases and a shooting…. House, you're team is insane…" He was glad House had come to him to vent for a moment though.

…

Chase lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling with a deadpan look. He was trying desperately to summon something in his mind, something recent, but there was nothing. Just blurs and wavy voices. He heard the small beep of the monitor next to him. His eyes moved lazily over to Cameron who had walked in the room. Foreman waited outside this time.

"What now?" he asked, exhausted.

"Hey," Cameron said gently, "How are you?"

"Crappy. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Chase," Cameron sighed, taking a seat next to his bed. "Just let me talk for a minute, okay?"

"What?"

"Chase, I just… wanted to know what you saw… in your hallucination. I thought it might help you… get past your hallucinations."

"That's not what you want to talk about."

"Okay… no, it's not." Cameron, looked down, "But I wouldn't mind you telling me."

"Don't pry, Cameron. You tend to do that," Chase sighed, agitated.

Cameron closed her eyes. "Chase…"

"What?"

"House told me to check your apartment…"

"You went in my apartment!" Chase's eyes showed fury.

"I had to! What if your life is on the line?"

"I'm guessing I know what you're talking about then."

"Chase… you had a LOT of alcohol in your fridge."

"I knew it," Chase said, sighing.

"Chase, why was there so much alcohol in your fridge?"

"I like a drink now and then? What's wrong with that?"

"Chase, your fridge was FILLED with it?"

"You want me to go to AA or something?" Chase said quickly.

Cameron shook her head. "Have you had trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah, I told you that. That's probably what's messing with my head."

"No, it's not."

"What would you know-" Chase had tried to lift himself up on his arms, but the gave quickly beneath him.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asked.

Chase was silent.

"Lift your arm," she demanded.

Chase's fingers twitched slowly as he tried to lift it. It hardly moved off the bed. Fear flashed in his eyes.

"Can you look at me?" she asked.

"M-my neck's a little weak… a little stiff…" Chase said, closing his eyes.

"I'll be back," Cameron said.

…

**HEADACHE**

**FAINTING**

**DEMENTIA**

**ALCOHOL**

**ANTI-DEPRESSANTS**

**MUSCLE WEAKNESS**

House drew an arrow from **MUSCLE WEAKNESS** to **STIFF NECK**. "That could be part of it…"

Cameron and Foreman waited patiently.

"Get a spinal tap."

"What?" Foreman stood up, aghast.

"It could be meningitis. Get a spinal tap and find out."

"But that's a painful procedure that's not necessary. He doesn't have enough symptoms to bring that conclusion!" Cameron said, angered.

"Do the spinal tap," House said seriously. "If he HAS meningitis, we need to catch it early so it doesn't spread throughout the hospital. DO the test."

"No!" Cameron yelled. "That's not enough proof! The test is too painful to just assume he has meningitis."

"Okay, Cameron. But think about it-not the moral part-the medical part! The more symptoms he shows, the more chance he has of giving it to the staff, the patients, everything! Do the test, or your fired."

Cameron gave him an incredulous look, those green-blue eyes wide and upset. She turned quickly and walked out of the office. She saw Cuddy speaking to Wilson at the bottom of the staircase.

"Cuddy!" Cameron exclaimed, rushing up to her. "I need to talk to you."

"What is it?"

"House wants to do a spinal tap on Chase," she said, eyes burning, "But he doesn't have enough symptoms to confirm meningitis."

Cuddy shook her head. "How many symptoms?"

"Two…" she paused. "…Three…"

"You'll have to do it," Cuddy sighed. "I can't risk infecting the entire hospital."

"Cuddy!"

"I'm sorry, Cameron. Even if he doesn't, the test could prove useful."

Cameron glowered at Cuddy, not noticing the sympathetic look Wilson gave her. She was certain Cuddy would've agreed with her! She seethed, making her way to Chase's room. Might as well give him the news…


	4. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three_

_"Hey, boy…"_

"What do you want?" Chase asked in a low voice.

_"I wanted to say I was sorry…"_

Chase glanced at his father who was sitting next to him, in a chair by the bed.

"Sorry for what?" he said softly, "You didn't do anything…. I should have let it go…"

_"Robbie… I shouldn't have left you with her. I should've taken you with me…You were too young to take care of her. I… I just couldn't bring myself to take you away from your mother."_ His father's accent was heavy, but familiar, making it, in a strange way, comforting.

"She was fine until you left," Chase sighed, his voice strained, "You wouldn't have known… but… you never checked in. You never called. You never visited. You never watched me do anything, achieve anything. You could've pulled me out of it, but you never knew, because you never saw."

_"Yeah… yeah I know… All I can say is sorry. That's all I can do."_

"Why didn't you tell me?" Chase whispered.

_"I was scared. I couldn't get the words out. You're a lot like me, Robbie. When you're scared, you coop it all up inside and pretend your fine."_

"My mother did that too."

_"I'm begging you, Robbie, don't let your fear kill you. Don't do the same thing your parents did. You're better than that. You're smarter than that."_

Chase said nothing. His father was gone. Foreman walked in the room.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Chase just looked at him.

"You ready?" he asked.

"I guess," he said, rolling over.

Cameron and Wilson appeared from the doorway as well. Wilson had apparently come for support or had been speaking to Cameron. She looked upset. His attention shifted over to the door, watching Wilson close it and draw the vertical blinds.

"Chase."

The wallpaper was very blue. He hadn't really noticed before.

"Chase."

Was that light always there?

"CHASE!"

He blinked. "What?"

"You might want to focus on something specific. It's gonna hurt."

He shook his head. Wasn't he doing something just then? He looked into Cameron's eyes, her brows furrowed in confusion. Her eyes were very blue-green. How many eyelashes did she have?

"Chase. Focus."

"Yeah," he said. "Focus…"

What was the definition of focus…?

Suddenly pain coursed through his being as the needle went in. He wasn't even able to yell out, just let out a large gasp. Allison grabbed his hand quickly.

"You can't move, Chase. Don't move."

Even in the weakness of his muscles, he squeezed Cameron's hand.

…

"The test was negative for meningitis," Cameron nearly slammed the document down. Her eyes were ablaze. "I knew it would be."

House sat at his desk, not looking up. He was deep in thought.

"House!" Cameron growled, "You could at least say something!"

"You have to be acknowledged when you're right? God, you're whiny," was his sarcastic reply.

"The test was unnecessary and you knew it! You just don't like him after what he did with Vogler! Is that it?"

"No, it was because I slept with him and it was a mistake," House returned with a cynical jeer.

Pow.

"I don't dislike Chase," Cameron whispered, appalled.

"I never said YOU slept with him either. I'm just good like that," House said, leaning back in his chair. "You walked right into it. But really, with the little pride-blows you've dealt him recently, I kinda figured you didn't like him or Foreman. Maybe you're just bitchy or something. I don't see why you could possibly like ME."

He folded his hands, awaiting a response. Cameron stared at him, then shook her head.

"He had a bit of an attention problem when we did the test…" she sighed.

"To the white board then," House said in a heroic voice-the one he used to scare hiccups out of people and such. Maybe it wasn't so heroic after all.

"It's not meningitis… Then what is it?" he questioned himself internally. "What's wrong with him?"

House had actually done the test in HOPES that it was meningitis. It could be treated easily, though he would have to be put in quarantine for awhile. Every time the ducklings came back he had a new symptom, which meant one of two things: either they missed something… or the disease was progressing. He tapped the marker against the board, then wrote **ATTENTION/CONCENTRATION ISSUES**.

"Is there anything we're missing? Anything at all?" he closed his eyes, "Cause I don't like writing this much stuff on the board. Let's get it on here all at once for a change."

"I… I don't know," Cameron said. "He doesn't really talk all that much. He won't say a thing about his family, and he insists he's fine."

Foreman, who had stumbled on the conversation a few minutes after House's confrontation with Cameron, spoke up. "He said he'd had sleep trouble."

**SLEEP DEPRIVATION**

…

_"Good afternoon, Wombat."_

"House?" Chase questioned, trying to sit up. "What do you want?"

_"Just checking in."_

"Why? You never check in."

_"Sandwich?"_ he offered some of his Reuben.

"N-no thanks…. Why are you here?"

_"Hiding from Cuddy. Figured you'd keep your mouth shut, or, in the least, make my job look important."_

"You never visit patients unless something bad is going to happen to them," Chase said.

_"Am I that predictable? Sure you don't want some?"_ He offered the sandwich again. _"Tastes like crap. They've got a new cook in the kitchen today. Can't make a sandwich to save his life… which is bad being that he's in a hospital. Oh well, maybe it'll save SOMEBODY."_

"Well… alright," Chase smiled and reached out, slowly due to the weakness in his arms.

His hand clasped around nothing. He couldn't feel anything in his hand, but it was obviously there. He could see it! Why couldn't he feel it? Had his hand gone numb? He shifted and gripped the bed pole. It was cold and felt metal. He could feel that. Why couldn't he feel House's sandwich? Maybe he was tricking him.

"Hey, are you tricking me-"

House was gone.

…

The board was beginning to pile up.

**HEADACHE**

**FAINTING**

**DEMENTIA**

**ALCOHOL**

**ANTI-DEPRESSANTS**

**MUSCLE WEAKNESS-STIFF NECK**

**ATTENTION/CONCENTRATION ISSUES**

**SLEEP DEPRIVATION**

House glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. Chase had been in the hospital room for about five and a half hours and he was no closer to a solution than he was then. He was beginning to get a headache as well, which annoyed him. He'd been thinking for five and a half hours too. His mind could only take so much. He wanted to zone out for just a second, maybe catch a rerun of _General Hospital_, but there was no time for that. He sighed in exhaustion.

…

Foreman took a bite out of his egg sandwich, a swig of his drink, then set them down on the plate. The cafeteria was bustling, being it was basically dinner time. He was happy to get something eat. He hadn't eaten all day. Still, the thoughts in his mind made the food taste bitter. This Chase-fiasco was messing with him, reminding him far too much of his previous ailment. He took another bite, knowing that it was going to be a long night.

"What's House thinking?" he thought to himself. "Does he have ANY idea what Chase has got? I'm running out of ideas…"

"Nurses said he reached out earlier for something, that he was talking to someone," Cameron said in a business-like tone, approaching quickly. "His hallucinations are getting worse."

Foreman swallowed his bite slowly, feeling interrupted. "Well yeah. We've done nothing to treat them."

"I know," Cameron sighed, taking the seat across from him.

"I don't think House realizes what's going on in Chase's head. Whatever he saw must have been convincingly real and extremely sobering. He clammed up after that experience, more than he was before."

"I wish he'd tell me what he saw. If he got it off his chest, maybe the illusions wouldn't be so traumatizing."

"I think he sees a lot of things. Still, if they keep up, he'll start to get confused between reality and illusion."

"He might've already started that."

…

**MENTAL**

House underlined the new word, written in larger letters at the top of the board. He observed his work, mind reeling. He shoved one hand in his pocket and leaned on his cane.

"Come on… think…" he thought to himself. "Give me something good…. Come ON!"

He was beyond frustrated now. His door opened with a small creak. He turned quickly, almost ready to swing his cane at whomever disrupted his going-nowhere thoughts.

"**WHAT!**"

Cuddy stepped back quickly, eyes wide. She almost dropped what she was holding. House stared for a moment, then lowered his cane from stomach level back to the floor.

"Did I interrupt something?" she asked, still a little freaked out.

"No… just me coming up with nothing," he took a seat and rubbed his eyes.

"Brought you a Reuben," Cuddy said, placing the sandwich in front of him. "Thought you might be hungry."

"What's the occasion of the nice Cuddy?" House asked, munching on the sandwich absent-mindedly.

"I owe you for the injections," she said simply, observing the board.

"You've been using that as an excuse for awhile," House said, smiling slightly. "You've got something to say to me, but you won't say it."

"Why do you read people?" she asked flatly. "It's annoying."

"You answered your own question," House replied, his mouth full.

Cuddy paused for a moment, looking over the symptoms.

"Hey, House…"


	5. Chapter Four

_Chapter Four_

"What is it?" House looked up quickly.

Cuddy turned to him with a smile on her face. "Lyme disease."

"What? Don't you see the big MENTAL on top of the board? It's got to be neurological."

"Lyme disease can have neurological complications, House. I thought a doctor like you would know that!"

A smirk crossed his lips slowly as the thought set in. "It's good… but not all the symptoms are there."

"Pain, weakness, visual disturbances-like illusions for example, and meningitis symptoms can all point to Lyme disease," Cuddy said.

"But there's no rash, no other symptoms besides the neurological."

"The rash doesn't show in some cases. Chase could be one of those cases."

"But he's got no fever…" House was sounding less assured by the second.

"Not if he's only showing neurological symptoms."

"Alright. We'll give him the antibiotics-"

"House!" Wilson opened the door quickly. "There's a problem. They couldn't get your beeper."

"Not again…" he whispered.

…

"Fever is spiking. 104 degrees right now," a nurse quickly said as House entered the room.

Chase was trembling so hard that some nurses had to restrain him. He was yelling out incoherently.

"Well, there's the fever," Cuddy said, looking hopeless.

"Let me talk to him," House demanded to the nurses, pushing his way through.

Chase was either starting to calm down or his muscles were getting weaker.

"Chase," House said in a harsh tone. "STOP."

"They're crawling all over me! Get them off! GET THEM OFF!" he screamed. "GET THE LITTLE BASTARDS OFF!"

"Chase, there is nothing there. Listen to me. Chase. It's House. Listen."

His misty, clouded eyes met House's sapphire ones. "You… were here earlier…" Confusion masked the twenty-eight-year-old's features.

"No I wasn't," House said, raising an eyebrow.

"His illusions are getting more realistic," his inner voice murmured. "What does he think is crawling on him?"

"What's crawling on you, Chase?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's forgotten?" he thought, worried.

"Chase-"

He could see the fever continuing to rise in the boy's eyes. They died away with the heat. Cuddy appeared on House's left.

"This is getting bad, House."

"He had a new symptom all the time. Next he'll have kidney failure or something!" Wilson leaned against the wall. He'd been silent until then.

"Wilson," House stated simply, headed out the door. Wilson followed, knowing Greg House far too well.

Cuddy shook her head then turned to the nurse. "Put him on antibiotics for Lyme disease. That okay, House?" She looked at the blue-eyed man.

"Fine. Do it." The door slid shut.

…

"Well, it's not cancer. I don't know why you're taking interest in the case," House seemed to lean more on his cane more than usual, like he had a heavy load on his back.

"Well, it IS a fellow doctor in there," Wilson said, shrugging, "I was concerned."

"Yeah, you should be," House sighed, stepping into the elevator. "I don't know what to think."

The elevator let out a "ding" and began to make its way downstairs.

"Surely you can't be puzzled by this."

"I can't get his history. He doesn't say a word about his past. I know his mom was a drunk and his dad was an ass but I don't know about his grandparents. He gets all defensive."

"You'll just have to convince him to tell you. If he told you about his mother, he'll tell you that."

"If he remembers…"

"What are you thinking?" Wilson asked.

"He's experiencing memory loss. There's no telling what he can remember and not remember. Let's just hope the important stuff gets through."

"How are you going to get him to talk?" Wilson looked a little worried.

"Easy. I'm going to scare it out of him." He looked at his watch. "I get off work in an hour. Drink?"

"I guess," Wilson sighed, watching House limp away.

…

"Dinner's over," House said.

Cameron and Foreman looked up from the table. Foreman had just finished his sandwich. Cameron picked at a salad. She went pale when House approached.

"Why, what happened?"

"I could make a joke here, a cruel statement like 'he's dead,' but, by seeing how pale you are, I'll refrain, figuring I've scared you enough."

Cameron's jaw stiffened.

"Come on. We've got an hour before I'm off work. Let's get somewhere before I go home."

"You're going to go home?" Cameron gawked at him, "Even if one of your doctors is dying?"

"He won't be if we get him to talk," House said, pressing the button on the elevator again.

The three doctors stepped in and watched the doors close.

"What do you mean?" Cameron looked at House with wide eyes.

"We need to get his history. This problem is mental. I know it."

The elevator opened and the three made their way back to House's office. He grabbed the marker and wrote **FEVER** on the board.

"Fever?" Cameron asked.

"Yes. It spiked a few minutes ago," House said.

"Then it could be just an infection."

"We won't know unless we get him to talk. His illusions are getting worse."

"We know. The nurses said he reached out and was talking to someone earlier."

"Yeah. Me."

"You were with him?"

"…Apparently. I don't remember. Maybe I'm having memory loss."

"He imagined you?"

"Yup, and some sort of bugs too, I think. He was freaking out when I showed up for REAL. Said something was crawling on him. Still, Cuddy's suggested Lyme disease. We're treating him for it right now."

"You took a suggestion from Cuddy? The apocalypse has come," Foreman mused, going over the symptoms.

"It seemed logical," House said, building up his wall between him and the others.

"The fever stands out," Foreman said. "Yeah, Lyme disease can cause fever, but not just fever and the neurological complications."

"Well, he has the meningitis type symptoms too. Lyme disease can cause that," Cameron said, a small smile playing on her features.

House hid his smile, but he was thinking perhaps they'd finally figured out what was wrong. If it WAS Lyme disease, House would have to buy Cuddy dinner. Yes, he'd owe her for this one.

"It definitely looks Lyme disease. Everything from the headache to the stiff neck can be caused by Lyme disease. But there's no rash," Foreman said.

"Sometimes the rash doesn't appear. It's a rarity, but he could be one in this case," House shrugged.

"I've never heard you side with Cuddy before. It's weird."

"No Bell's palsy, no nerve damage. That's good."

"The treatment should show in just about an hour. If it works, we'll go home."

Cameron's eyes twinkled, a good change from the stabbing glares she'd given him recently. He hated when she glared at him. She had that same glare as Stacey. He shuddered at the thought. Glares like that made him feel guilty. He liked Cuddy's glare. It made him feel playful. He could continue to bark up that tree.

"I can't believe we didn't even think about Lyme disease. He could've died because of it. We'll have to thank Cuddy for that."

House's beeper suddenly went off, followed shortly by Foreman and Cameron's. He looked down at it.

"…It's not Lyme disease."

Cameron's smile vanished from her face.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," House said, moving quickly from his office to Chase's room.

"He's seizing," Cuddy said quickly. Nurses were moving quickly throughout the room. "Lyme disease doesn't cause that…"

Chase's body was racking against the sheets. His eyes had rolled back in his head. The monitors were beeping loudly and quickly, rushing every process.

"Knock him out!" Cuddy demanded.

"No!" House cut in. "Keep him awake. Let the seizure end so we can talk."

"House, he could die!" Cuddy yelled.

"He's going to if we don't talk!" he returned gruffly, those azure eyes dark and grave.

Cuddy watched his face for a minute as if expecting a "Just Kidding!" None came. She backed down.

"Do it. Drug him enough to end the seizure."

The nurses made eyes at each other, but did it none the less. After a few minutes, the monitor slowed and quieted, and Chase calmed down. House looked unfazed, but the others knew better. His eyes told it all. Cameron leaned against the wall for support, eyes glistening.

"Chase," House said.

His eyes were still frantic, brain still freaked from the seizure. He looked up at House, eyes wide. His face was clammy from sweat, Cameron could tell even from a difference. He was still trembling.

"H-house," he croaked sadly, his accent extremely heavy, making it hard to understand. "Am… I… going to… die?"

That struck House. Everyone could see it. Cameron felt tears dot her eyes.

"If you don't tell us what we need to know… you will."

Chase's eyes rolled back in his head. He couldn't handle the pressure. He passed out. House looked at Cameron.

"Stay here until he wakes up. Beep me and get as much as you can out of him."

"Wh-why me?" Cameron yelped, voice squeaking.

"He likes you. He will talk. Trust me. Cuddy, we need to talk."

House and Cuddy walked out. Foreman looked at Cameron.

"G-go on. Get some rest. Take a shower. We'll switch when you get back."

"You sure you'll be okay by yourself?" Foreman asked, a bit concerned for his now-friend.

"I'll be fine."

"Okay," he said, unconvinced, and left her alone with the unconscious Aussie.

She slumped into a seat and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes. She didn't know how long she sat there, minutes, hours, days… It didn't matter. She needed to get away. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere where her loved ones didn't get hurt. What was wrong here? Was SHE cursed? It seemed wherever she went, bad things happened, but never to her.

Yes, she had ALMOST caught AIDS. She'd ALMOST been fired. She had ALMOST quit her beloved job. And yes, she had unprotected sex with her coworker, but didn't get pregnant. Now her husband was dead. The man she once-liked had been shot. Her friend had almost died, and the man she'd slept with WAS dying! But nothing happened to her. Was she really so righteous to only see those around her hurt? That was worse than any punishment God could send upon her. She felt a tear slip down her cheek.

"Wh…at's… wrong…?"

She looked up suddenly, seeing her fellow doctor's eyes watching her.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed, embarrassed that she hadn't noticed.

"You're… upset…"

"Just stressed," she said with a soft, sad, smile.

He touched her hand, a comforting gesture, then closed his eyes tiredly. "My mother wasn't crazy."

She perked up, surprised.

"She was a drunk… after Dad left. She only seemed crazy after that…"

…

"I'm sorry. I could have sworn it was Lyme disease," Cuddy muttered, leaning on her desk.

"I didn't pull you away to ask for an apology," House replied.

"Then what did you want?"

"Your office has a more comfortable couch." He laid back against the cushions.

"What?" She looked at him incredulously.

"I need a break. I figured I could rest on your couch until Chase wakes up."

"You're an ass."

"No, I'm exhausted," he argued, closing his eyes. "I was HOPING I could go grab a drink with Wilson then head home, but I won't be tonight, will I? I think it'd be better if I can actually rest for a second so my mind will work."

"You're right. I'm sorry," Cuddy backed down for the second time that evening.

"Are you ever going to ask me whatever you wanted to ask before?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Defense.

"Everybody lies."

"You haven't said that in awhile…"

"Yeah, I know. Thought I'd bring the phrase back to life."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, then watched the clock for a moment. Six fifteen. House would have left awhile ago had there been no case. He stayed, strangely enough. It was proof that he was worried about Chase.

"You can be the most annoying person in the world, House. You can be a bastard. You can really hurt people. You can be just terrible," she said.

"Wow. My esteem is just shining right now," House cut in flatly.

"And yet… people like you."

"The world's a strange place. Still, let's get on the same page here. Are you talking about people or are you talking about YOU?"

…

"Your mom drank herself to death?"

"Yeah… she did," Chase breathed. "Gin and tonic and any painkillers she could find. Without it she couldn't live."

"Was that who you saw when we came to talk to you this morning, Chase?"

He looked defensive for a minute. "…Yeah."

"Chase, I'm so sorr-"

"Don't be sorry," he said. "I'm not asking for guilt. I don't want sympathy. My mother… she was wonderful until my father left."

"Do you blame your father for her death?"

"No. I blame him for not taking me out of the situation when he had the chance." His head lolled for a minute.

"Chase?"

"I… I think I'm gonna be sick…"


	6. Chapter Five

_Chapter Five_

Chase's face hovered over the bedpan, the very little stomach contents now within it. Cameron's hand was shaking. She had moved fast enough to stop him from getting sick on the sheets. She placed it to the side and pressed her palm against his forehead. He was burning up.

"Chase-"

He grasped her wrists, eyes wide and frightened. She was sensing another seizure coming.

"My dad died of lung cancer," he breathed. "He never told me he had it. My step-mom told me on the day he died. That's when I made the mistake on that woman. I was depressed. I'm still depressed. Nothing in my life has gone right. When my mother died, I was by myself. Age fifteen and by myself."

"Didn't you have any grandparents?" she asked.

He was starting to shake again. "My grandparents on my father's side died in a car accident. My grandmother on my mom's side died by an allergic reaction to some medication. My grandfather on my mom's side died of complications of multiple sclerosis."

Cameron took mental note of everything he said.

"I lived on the streets for three years, doing side jobs to pay for school. I managed to go to college and became a doctor." The words spilled out of his mouth like water from a faucet. He was afraid he was going to die. She could see it. "I'm paying off my college funds. All my money's going to that. I couldn't pay a dime when I entered college and took out a huge loan. I-"

His words then became too jumbled to make out and he started seizing. Cameron held him tightly against the bed, trying to stop him from hurting himself. The monitors began beeping again, loud and fast.

"CAN I GET SOME HELP IN HERE PLEASE?" Cameron yelled.

Nurses came rushing in. She looked one in the eye. "Get Doctor House."

She nodded shakily and rushed off.

…

"Maybe I'm just pretending to want to ask you something so it'll drive you crazy that you don't know what I'm thinking," Cuddy said.

"You're not THAT smart. I'M that smart." House grinned.

"Damn you."

"I thought you liked me."

"I never said that."

"No. But you are very good at implying things."

"Fine! I'll ask you. House, would you-"

Beeper. Cuddy hid her sigh of relief behind concern for the words on that tiny screen.

"Wow. The beeper cuts in right when you're going to say something important! This is better than TV," House said, standing. "Well, let's go see what the little duckling has to say. We can continue this conversation later."

…

**HEADACHE**

**FAINTING**

**DEMENTIA**

**ALCOHOL**

**ANTI-DEPRESSANTS**

**MUSCLE WEAKNESS-STIFF NECK**

**ATTENTION/CONCENTRATION ISSUES**

**SLEEP DEPRIVATION**

**FEVER**

**VOMITING**

**SEIZURE**

"A lot of symptoms. They should be mapping out something. Cameron, what did he say?"

"He lived by himself for three years when he was younger."

"Where?"

"Australia."

"That's vague."

"That's all I got for that."

"Family history?"

"Mom…" she paused. "She didn't die of mental illness. Dad died of lung cancer."

"Grandparents."

"Two died in a car accident, one died of an allergic reaction, and one died of multiple sclerosis."

"…" House looked at her as if he anticipated something else.

"What?" she asked, looking around for a second.

"Good job, Cameron," House shrugged, looking a bit impressed, but just sounding sarcastic enough to give a sense of doubt. He turned to Foreman. "What does that tell us?"

"Chase could have multiple sclerosis?" Foreman guessed.

"No! Not enough symptoms."

"Yet!" Cameron jumped in.

"With this long list, there won't be much more symptoms," House said, his voice taking on a serious edge, gruff with tiredness.

"Except…"

"He'll die if we don't figure this out soon," House said.

He moved to the left. Cameron and Foreman watched expectantly.

"I need coffee," he said, pouring a mug full.

He made to take a sip when Cameron slapped the mug out of his hand. It crashed to the floor, spilling the hot brown liquid everywhere. House's hand was still open, a fresh gash across his palm, dripping blood.

"What the Hell!"

"Can you actually CARE for a second?" Cameron screamed, fury torching her veins. "Chase is in that room DYING and you're thinking about coffee! You can't dislike him that much! You can't possibly want to KILL him!"

"Don't yell at me, Cameron."

"No! Through this whole case you've done nothing but screw off! You haven't showed one ounce of faith. One OUNCE of care! NOTHING!"

"Cameron-"

"YOU'RE SO CHILDISH! You just WANT him to die!" Tears began to dot her eyes again. Her voice dropped again, a desperate attempt to hide a sob. "He is twenty-eight years old. What would you want? Wouldn't you want someone to save you?"

Silence pursued, Foreman and House just blankly staring at her. She dropped her head and sniffed.

"He told me about his parents, his life, his money troubles, everything. Because you told him to. You told him he would die if he didn't share that information, the only thing he's really got to himself. He WANTS to live. Can't you help him?"

House stared at the blood on his hand, continuing to drip from the large wound. He mulled over the words in his head.

_"YOU'RE SO CHILDISH!-"_

A light went off in his head. He looked up at Cameron.

"Schilder's disease. It's gotta be that. If it's not that, there's no hope."

"That only occurs in children," Foreman said.

"No, it starts with childhood. It can stay dormant until much later. Every symptom is covered, AND it is a variant of multiple sclerosis. Foreman, treat him. Give him corticosteroids and beta-interferon."

Foreman left without a word, knowing all too well that the office was way too tense for words. The glass door swung shut.

"I'm not out to kill him." House grabbed a couple of napkins and pressed them against his hand. "You wouldn't have yelled at me had it been any other patient."

"That's not true. I'm fed up with the way you treat your patients," Cameron replied bitterly.

"Then quit. What's stopping you?" House's eyes caught hers.

"I love my job."

"But you hate your boss? No, wait… didn't you LIKE me at one point? People like me. Cuddy said so. Can't possibly think why though. Maybe it's because I'm honest…"

"Stop it," Cameron interrupted. "Do you have to cover everything with a sarcastic comment?"

House continued to try to stop the bleeding. "Chase will be fine."

"That's not why I'm pissed!"

No comment.

"We've done tests that were painful and unnecessary. We've let his symptoms progress far beyond where we should have. He SUFFERED because you didn't put forth enough effort."

"You know… I thought that, by now, you would have figured out how I work." He continued to tend his wound. "I'm sorry it's not to your liking, but I'm not going to change for you."

Cameron bit her lip. "I know that."

"Then why do you complain? I didn't know what was wrong with him anymore than you did. I didn't see YOU coming up with anything. Hell, I agreed with Cuddy! We don't agree on ANYTHING, except how sexy I am.. I WANTED to cure him, but I COULDN'T." He turned around. His hand was still bleeding. "I may act like I know everything, but I DON'T. I'm HUMAN. Just. Like. You. I just don't allow myself to be stepped on."

She sniffed. "Why do you ACT like you don't care then?"

House fumbled with his cane, trying to ignore the continuous stinging in his palm. Cameron saw him battling that wall that he always put up.

"It makes my team work harder," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Especially you. When you see me screwing around, you and your caring nature allow yourself to believe that it's your obligation to save them. It makes you a crappy doctor and a good doctor in different ways." He continued to fumble with his cane. "But it eats at you on the inside."

"I-"

"Cameron."

"What?" Tears were flowing now.

"You care too much. If you continue to worry and stress about people you hardly know, about patients, you will NEVER be happy. People die. If you allow that to hurt you, this isn't the job for you. You can't be a doctor and expect everything to always be okay. It won't. If you continue to let it affect you, it'll tear you up. It'll affect the way you work, and I can't continue to let you work for me if that happens."

She sniffled again. "I understand… but I won't stop caring for the patients. They need to know someone's there for them."

"Chase will be getting better soon. I'm glad you called me childish. I wouldn't have thought of Schilder's disease in time without you."

A smile spread across her face.

"You could have skipped the slicing my hand open part though. Damn, this won't stop bleeding!"

"Oh, I… I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed.

"Just go," he shooed her away. "I'll take care of this."

Cuddy came walking in, taking Cameron's place. "Cameron told me you figured it out."

"That or he dies," House replied, attempting to stop the bleeding with pressure. "If he dies, I'm sure she'll kick my ass or kill me in my sleep or something."

"What happened to your hand?" Cuddy asked, hardly surprised.

"Rough sex on a glass table." There was that sarcasm again.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Here, let me help."

House tried to protest, but she grabbed his hand and pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket. She pressed it to the wound and tied it.

"Come on. Let's go down to the clinic and fix it up."

"Will you take off my hours for that?"

Cuddy scoffed.

…

Numbness…

The pain was seeping away, making normality seem more like a numbness. He could feel nothing. He was floating in the darkness, light as a feather, listening to jumbled, echoing voices.

"Am I dying?" he thought, feeling so far away.

No. He wasn't. Something was different.

Suddenly, feeling washed over him, a small pain in his finger. It twitched in resistance. His eyes fluttered open, then squinted back shut under the intensity of the fluorescent lights.

"Ow," he muttered, his head still a bit light.

"Can you lift your arm?"

He complied without argument, too tired to do anything else. He lifted his arm without realizing the ease. He opened one eye halfway to look at Foreman who had a smile on his face.

"What?"

"I think you're gonna be okay," Foreman said. "Just rest. You'll be feeling better in no time."

He left to spread the good news. Chase closed his eyes. No problem with that. He snoozed for a few minutes, maybe half an hour. Then the door open and pulled him from his slumber. He didn't open his eyes, however. He listened to the footsteps, clicking against the floor. Short heeled shoes. It was a woman. They stopped at his bedside. A soft hand brushed against his forehead. It was Cameron. He'd know those soft hands anywhere. He opened his eyes halfway, watching her check his vitals with a smile. Her hair was down and her eyes were a bit puffy.

"Hey," he said.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, then turned to look at him.

"H-hey."

"How're you?" he laughed slightly at his own statement.

"You're asking me?"

"Well," Chase said, feeling a bit like House, "You already KNOW about me. You just checked my vitals."

"Good point. I'm okay."

"You look like you've been upset."

"I broke a coffee cup."

"That's not that bad-"

"While it was in House's hand…"

"Oooh…" Chase grinned. "Seems we both got our revenge now, eh?"

"It was because of you. I thought he wanted you to die."

"Oh, c'mon, Cameron. He can't stand me, but he wouldn't want me to DIE. I mean, he saved MARK. Why would he kill ME? I'm not THAT much of an annoyance."

She laughed, a sign that she was feeling better. "I guess I overreacted."

"I punched him for giving me clinic duty," he replied. "At least, that's what I heard."

"You had a mental condition."

"Still did it."

"Problems with the brain can cause you to do things without thinking," Cameron said with a reassuring smile.

"You'd know about that," Chase said with a hint of bitterness.

Cameron averted her eyes. "…I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was the drugs that led me on. Not you." He wouldn't look at her either.

"No. It was me," Cameron assured.

"Can't prove that," he challenged, smiling softly.

Cameron glanced around. The room was closed, as were the blinds, sealing them from the outside world of the hospital. She moved slowly and brushed her lips against his. He stiffened for a moment, then blushed ever-so-slightly. She grinned.

"Get some rest." She left.

…

House looked at his newly bandaged hand with disgust. "Great, now I REALLY look like a victim… of… I don't know… something."

"Can't think of anything clever?" Cuddy raised an eyebrow.

"My mind's running on empty. How about a drink?"

Cuddy looked skeptical at first, but accepted the invitation. "Okay."


	7. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

"Woo," House let out a loud sigh, setting the shot glass down.

"Lightweight," Cuddy said, taking another with ease.

"I knew she was good at something," House muttered to Wilson, "I just doubted it was drinking us under the table."

"Yeah," Wilson said, sipping at his shot, not really in the mood to down it.

"Why don't you ask her to dance?" House asked, nudging his friend, though his tone was more of a taunt than an idea. "Too awkward? She's pretty drunk."

"No, YOU'RE pretty drunk," Wilson said, waving away House's breath. "Why don't you dance with her?"

"Can't. Crippled. Sorry." He smirked, then downed another shot.

"C'mon, House! Can't you take more than three sh-shots?" Cuddy downed her eighth.

"Good Lord!" House exclaimed. "I should take you drinkin' more often."

"Something tells me this will end badly," Wilson added with a sigh. "It's college all over again."

"You know it," House said, enjoying himself.

…Two Weeks Later…

Chase slung his bag over his shoulder, headed towards the front door. "I'll see you in two weeks," he said.

Cameron trailed behind him slowly. Chase had taken off two weeks vacation. He was going back to Australia. He had "a couple of people he needed to visit." He'd ditched the anti-depressants and the alcohol, and, overall, had a much better demeanor. All he needed to do was pay his respects, a bit of a cleansing, perhaps. Neither of them said anything about what had happened in the room before. They kept it to themselves.

"Our little wombat's going off to see his fellow wombats," House stated, limping from the elevator. "And leaving us here in nice, rainy, cold Jersey to go to nice, sunny, hot Australia." By the end of the comment he sounded bitter.

Chase grinned. "I'll bring you back a souvenir. Maybe a cane with a horn on it or something."

House grimaced. "If that's what you'll bring me, don't bring me anything at all."

Chase snickered, sharing the small laugh with Foreman. Cameron hid a smile. With that, Chase waved a small goodbye and left the PPTH. He walked to his car and sat, turning on the radio.

_Save me from the prison_

_Lord help me get away_

_Cause only you can save me now_

_From this misery…_

He smiled to himself and hit the road, towards the airport, towards Australia, towards the beginning of a new life.

_How far is Heaven?_

The car sped down the road, the sun slowly setting in the sky.


End file.
